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Contrails

Last updated Jan 15, 2012 4:53pm0

They crisscross the heavens, long silk threads of white

Spun in the bowels of jet engines, of sleek planes in flight

Like woven strands of white twine, they cling high in the air

I often look up and gaze, in awe and just stare

From behind the wings, those thin white billows pour

High in the blue yonder, see those Silver Birds soar

Like old wagon wheel ruts, they mark up the blue sky

And were never before seen, until man learned to fly

These trails in the sky, minute crystals of ice

Pasted onto the blue, with no pattern precise

White lines twisted and curved, some long and narrow

Are carved into the heavens, some straight as an arrow

Lines soft, puffy, and fluffy, gently drift to and fro

They float to the horizon, I know not where they go

The sky starts to heal, marks of chalk dissipate

The heaven is for sure, one big self cleaning slate

They fade, then vanish, the sky is swept clean and blue

Erased from the heavens, there's left not a clue

But I know on the morrow, with the morning sunrise

I'll again see white silk twines, lace up the skies

Arley M. Bischoff

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